


Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.

by UmbreonGurl



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Promare (2019)
Genre: Angst, Chrobin - Freeform, Crossover, M/M, Reincarnation, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbreonGurl/pseuds/UmbreonGurl
Summary: “May we meet again in a better life,” says Robin, completely unaware that— in actuality, they already had.
Relationships: Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.

When Chrom meets a white-haired man in a field, he can’t help but feel a bit of deja vu. 

He doesn’t know _what_ is making him feel this way, or _why,_ but some part of Chrom feels like he knows this person already.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, as soon after he helps the man to his feet, Chrom sees smoke rising from the direction of Southtown.

_Fire._

And every instinct he has _screams_ at him to put it out.

Chrom takes off running, and Frederick and Lissa follow. 

He doesn’t even get the man’s name.

* * *

The first time they fight together, Chrom almost trips over his own feet. 

Chrom does not stare when the man pulls a fire tome out from underneath the folds of his cloak.

Chrom does not stare when his fingers flip through the pages with practiced ease.

Chrom does not stare when a spell circle forms at the man’s fingertips.

He does stare, however, when the fire that shoots forth from them is pink.

Chrom is no mage, but he’s seen Miriel cast fire enough times to know that pink fire isn’t normal. He watches with wide eyes as the flames fly towards a brigand. 

Chrom snaps back to attention when an arrow zooms past, and it’s a little too close to his head for comfort. He turns his focus back to the battlefield, and makes a run for the archer, but even after, he can’t seem to get it off his mind.

Pink fire.

Something about that makes his gut twist. 

Pink.

* * *

Chrom approaches him after the battle.

“You fought really well out there,” says Chrom. “You’ve got an eye for the battlefield, stranger.”

“Is…” Chrom pauses, briefly, trying to find the right words. “Is the… pink fire, _normal_ for you?”

“I think so.”

“You… think so?” asks Chrom, confused.

“I suspect so, but I do not know for sure,” confirms the other man. “Truthfully, I don’t remember much at all before waking up in that field.”

Chrom almost wants to gape. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Oh,” says Chrom.

The man shrugs. 

There’s an awkward silence as they wait for Frederick and Lissa, who, last Chrom saw, were at the other side of town.

Chrom frowns, before he comes to an embarrassing realization. “...I never did introduce myself, did I?”

“No,” confirms the man, “No, you didn’t.”

“My name is Chrom,” he says, offering his hand.

The man takes it. “I’m Robin,” he says, with a firm shake.

Chrom doesn’t know why, but something about that statement of fact doesn't feel right. He ignores it.

“You said you don’t remember anything before waking up in that field, right? Does that mean you have nowhere to stay?”

Robin hums, rubbing his chin slightly. “I believe so, yes. Why?”

“Tell me, Robin, have you ever considered being a tactician?”

* * *

Robin can’t use thunder magic. Or wind. Or ice. They quickly discover it after Robin buys himself some new tomes, and several of them backfire spectacularly. 

Robin goes through them one by one, and each time one backfires, the frown on his face gets deeper and deeper. By the time he gets to Elfire, his eyebrows are a bit singed, and some spots of his coat are covered in soot.

Robin grips the book so tight that Chrom is honestly worried it might break. 

“Maybe you should take a break,” suggests Chrom, “We can try again later.”

“No,” he replies. 

Robin is stubborn. It’s something Chrom learns quite quickly. He picks up a lot of things about Robin quickly. (It’s a common theme with him, Chrom finds.)

Robin opens up Elfire. 

He goes through the same motions he always does, opening the tome and flipping through it like a fish swimming through the water. From his fingers, the spell circle glows, a bright, brilliant pink, and and out from his fingers, the fire flows. 

Pink.

“Well, that one worked,” he says.

“Yeah,” agrees Chrom, looking over at the burning training dummy, “It did.”

Pink.

By the time the fire sizzles out, all that is left of the training dummy is ashes.

* * *

Robin reads, and he reads a lot. It’s not uncommon to see him walking through the halls with his nose buried in a book.

Chrom finishes training late, that day. He’s on his way back, when he notices Robin’s office door is open, and the room is lit.

He knocks, lightly, before pushing the door open and peering in. 

Robin glances up.

“It’s awful late to be working,” says Chrom. 

Robin glances at Chrom, then towards the window, looking out at the dark sky.

“Huh,” he says. “I guess it is. I didn’t notice it had gotten so late.”

“I think you should probably sleep soon,” says Chrom. “Work can wait.”

Robin raises an eyebrow. “I could say the same to you. Up late training again? Frederick would be most displeased with you.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” says Chrom.

Robin shuts his book with a sigh. “How about this,” he says. “I’ll go to bed if you do.”

“That’s fair,” agrees Chrom. “You have yourself a deal.”

Chrom waits as Robin finishes putting things away, and when Robin is done, Chrom follows him out the door.

Chrom pauses when he sees a flash of pink out of the corner of his eye. He turns to look back, and there, flickering on the candle he had watched Robin put out, is a small, pink flame.

“Chrom?” calls Robin, “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” he says, as he pinches the flame out. “I am.”

When Chrom catches up with Robin, Robin turns to give him a confused glance.

“What took you so long?” he says.

“Nothing much,” replies Chrom. “I just… got distracted, that’s all.”

“You’re not normally one to get distracted,” says Robin with a chuckle. “Maybe you need to sleep more than I do, Chrom.”

“Maybe,” replies Chrom. 

* * *

Robin is a bit like a campfire, Chrom finds. He is calm, and warm, and everyone seems to gather around him often—whether it be to get battle assignments, to get advice, or simply just to chat.

Chrom is one of them. If Robin is a fire, Chrom is a moth, following his every flicker, chasing the embers he leaves behind.

If provoked, Robin turns into a blazing wildfire. The way his brows crease when he is angry, the way his flames seem to come _alive_ —Chrom honestly can’t help but be a bit in awe of him when he fights. 

Even when angry, Robin is graceful. He moves like a force of nature, burning his way through the battlefield like the shooting stars he used to wish on as a boy. 

Robin burns his way into Chrom’s dreams too, but they are strange. A world of buildings that touch the sky, a world of machines that growl like beasts, where he walks strange paths and speaks to strange people who speak words he does not know.

Burnish. Promepolis.

The world is a blur, and all he can see is coated in flames, burning and burning, coated in pink.

Chrom tries his best to get people out of the way, and it is as he does that he sees him.

Robin. He wears strange clothes and speaks strange words—just like the rest of them do— but he is definitely Robin. 

Chrom almost wants to cry out in joy, because _finally_ , something— _someone_ —he knows. But then Robin’s gaze turns to him, and Chrom is met not with a smile, but a familiar furrowing of Robin’s brows and a downturn of his lips that is usually reserved for the worst of enemies.

“Robin?” says Chrom. 

Robin raises his arm, and Chrom sees one thing before he wakes up with his heart racing in his chest.

Pink.

* * *

The same dream comes back several times, and each time it does, Chrom is more and more tempted to ask Robin about them.

Chrom had never believed much in gods, or fate, or any of that spiritual stuff (especially not after all the atrocities his father had committed in their name.)

But he can’t help but wonder why these dreams just won’t leave him alone, and why they never started until he met Robin.

He has trouble falling back asleep when he wakes up with his heart racing in his chest, and when he shows up to the dining hall the morning after, it’s quite obvious he didn’t sleep well.

“Rough night?” says Robin, glancing up from his book as Chrom takes a seat across from him. 

“Didn’t sleep well,” replies Chrom.

“Ah,” says Robin, with a hum. “Bad dreams?”

Chrom pauses, briefly.

“No,” he replies. “Not bad. Just… strange, is all.”

“So,” says Robin. “About the plans I had for tomorrow’s battle, I’ve made some minor adjustments.”

* * *

Battle after battle, fight after fight, Robin lights the way for Chrom, blazing the way forward to what Chrom hopes will be a better future.

Night after night, the dreams return, blazes of pink and green, lighting up the world in every direction he can see. But as with every fire, Robin, too, will eventually burn out. Chrom knows that the day will eventually come when his world returns to darkness once more.

That day comes far too soon for his liking.

Chrom had always known it was a possibility that they might not come back from a battle. It’s always a risk in war. It doesn’t mean he was prepared for it. 

It is one thing to live in a dark world when you have never known light. It is another to have to return to the dark when you have. 

“May we meet again, in a better life,” Robin had said.

As Chrom’s fingers clench around the fabric of an empty coat, he can’t help but laugh.

“You know, Robin, I think we might have already,” he says. 

There on the ground lies the Elfire tome Robin had been so fond of, pink fire slowly working its way up the spine.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Chrom reaches his hand out for the tome.

The fire is warm, familiar, even. The tome turns to ashes in his hands. 

**Author's Note:**

> I came to the realization that Chrobin and Galolio have the same vibe and I have not gone back since.


End file.
